Dave Bonta's poem reads like a list of things worth learning, and almost all of them belong to the world of small creatures. Water striders walk on the surface of water, glowworms make light without heat, larvae wait with their odd mouthparts and the beginnings of wings. Even the inchworm gets a moment, its looping movement described as "green prostrations," as if it were bowing in prayer.
The speaker seems to feel real admiration, even humility. Knowledge here isn't human cleverness but the quiet, practical wisdom of insects. The mood is curious and gentle, with a touch of wonder.
The ending shifts things. The poem alludes to the saying that "the meek shall inherit" the earth, and asks what that actually means. Judging by everything before it, the answer may be that these tiny, overlooked creatures already know something about living in the world that we have yet to understand.